


bittersweet beneath my teeth

by twistedingenue



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012), Thor (Movies)
Genre: F/M, smut with feels, this is not a healthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-27
Updated: 2013-04-27
Packaged: 2017-12-09 14:36:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/775320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedingenue/pseuds/twistedingenue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's bad, what they have, and it's worse because they like each other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bittersweet beneath my teeth

Darcy's given him the door code if only because she was tired of having Clint pick the lock every time he wants to come in during the middle of the night. This whole thing they have is a bad idea, he's said so before. She's said so before. They are in agreement over how this is bad, but they can't seem to stop it. So she gives Clint her door code, and he finds her after the bad ones.  
  
The all-call went out ten hours ago and there was no coverage of anything strange on the news, and that always means it's going to be a bad one. Darcy pours herself a glass of whatever the fuck she can find and settles in. She's given up on sleeping. She might as well just wait with almost nothing on at all.  
  
She's got a buzzer on the door, and it goes off and opens when it's rounding three am, and most of her glass has been and gone a couple of times. "Hey," Darcy says, fingering the outside rim. It squeaks.  
  
It's bad, what they have, and it's worse because they like each other. At least as friends, and it's that friendly smile that traps her every time, that gets her to get out of her chair and gets her arms around him. He strips off what little she's wearing fast, and he's still in his gear,  and his skin tastes like acrid sweat and a little bit of mud. Didn't even shower. Darcy keeps the lights low, but there's slick bits and dried bits of blood. She doesn't think he's actively bleeding at least.  
  
"This thing has too many buckles." Darcy tries to make her fingers work, and listens for Clint's throaty laugh. He can't stop it, even now, and she doesn't hate this.  He's just got to work something out in himself and if he works it out with her, that's fine.  
  
"They got to get me strapped in girlie, I like to fall too much." Clint palms her breasts, pushes them together before sucking at them. Dragging kisses down her skin distracts her from her real purpose, trying to get his clothes off and on the floor before he tips her over, pushes her onto the bed, pinning her hips with fast moving hands. "You fall pretty nice too."  
  
How many stories this time hangs on the tip of her tongue but she can't say it, not with his mouth on hers. There's blood there, for certain. Bit his tongue or his cheek at some point and it's gotta sting. She doesn't care since he doesn't. He's not going to care about much of anything until he's got his dick in her.  
  
It's not good, what they have, not at all. They enjoy every rough hewn moment of it, and afterwards, they are just…well, them. Clint goes back to being kind of sweet, silent except for joking, and Darcy is nothing important. A lackey, a minion, a tag-along, waiting for something better to come along. But right now, she's exactly what he needs. It's got to be more intimate than most of the relationships he has. Well, if she's not fooling herself by thinking that.  
  
It's not good, it's not satisfying in any way other than physical. But it's what they've got to give and what they've made room for in their lives.  
  
"Hey, come on girlie, gonna try and spread those legs for me?" he nips at her earlobe, inaudible if he weren't speaking directly into her ear. He's not going to wait for her to respond, already urging them to part with his own, even while still holding on to her, his fingertips pushing into her skin hard enough for her to wince.  
  
Give him credit, Darcy thinks, he noticed. He takes his hands down her legs, pushing her knees up, "Like this, that's what I…."  
  
"Oh god, shut up and fuck me." Darcy slaps his arm in frustration, and here is what's good about this whole mess, and why she waits up, his feral but private grin, a whispered damn when he enters her, stilling for just a moment. He runs his hands over her sides, tilting her chin to kiss her before the urgency takes over. Then he's lost to whatever dark place he has to go to, the dim light casting long shadows over his  features.  
  
He's not quite the monster he thinks he is, the sentiment expressed the few times they've talked through the harsh,unyielding fucking and it's always brutal and quick.  Tonight's not an exception, just unrelenting thrusts while she reaches out for him, just trying to hold on and get a touch of skin.  
  
When he comes, it's with a sharp focus and the thrill of his jerking cock coming to quiet within her. Clint pulls out and then crumbles around her, breathing hard right next to her ear as he too comes to the quiet.  
  
Well, she's not done yet and Darcy guides his hand down to her folds, showing him how she wants it tonight. His fingers are warm and solid when he works her over, following her instructions. He's gentler here, one strong arm holding Darcy against his chest, and silent  save for fond,  and she's sure it's fond, it has to be, sighs when she squirms and whimpers. It's not until after she comes suddenly, her head hitting his shoulder that he lets go at all.  
  
This is also what's good about this bad thing they have going on. He never leaves her unsatisfied, not the way that some exes have. They lay there close to each other, touching, but not intimate.  
  
"Did you wait up for me?" Clint asks, stretching and forcing himself up to his elbows and then fully upright.  
  
"Yeah?" It's the truth, she's not done it often, but sometimes it happens.  
  
"You shouldn't do that."  Darcy isn't looking at Clint, still curled up on her side facing the opposite direction and Clint grabs her shoulder. She has bruises forming on her hips, indents from his fingernails from where they almost broke skin and some how this is the worst handling she's ever gotten from him, "You don't wait up for me, Lewis. That's not. We're not…."  
  
"Relax, take a fucking chill pill," Darcy lies though her teeth when she adds, "I just couldn't sleep tonight. I drank a little and you showed up. That's all."  
  
"Uh good, that's good. I mean, sorry you couldn't sleep. I'm just going to, uh…."  
  
"Whatever. You know the way." Darcy waves him off, punching her pillow. Clint collects his clothes, wrinkling his nose at their smell.  
  
It's not good what they have, they can't decide where they are to each other. But at least it's a mutual unsurety, and Darcy is grateful when he pulls the cover over her before he leaves.


End file.
